


Those Halcyon Days

by Metallic_Sweet



Series: Wear Your Colours [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Courtly Love, Espionage, F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Forbidden Love, Love Poems, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Power Dynamics, Supernatural Elements, Touch-Starved, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23096284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: Hubert courted Ferdinand. Ferdinand could not court Hubert. But for a short dream:They were fond of each other in their academy days.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: Wear Your Colours [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1527893
Comments: 22
Kudos: 146





	Those Halcyon Days

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place loosely during the academy phase/sections 0-9 of [Wear Your Colours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20627687/chapters/48980699).

**0.**

“You may be interested to know,” Ferdinand says as they lie together on Hubert’s bed, “I had a strange conversation with Claude today.”

Hubert threads his fingers through Ferdinand’s hair. From the soft baby hairs at the nape of his neck to his crown before soothing it back down. Against his chest, Ferdinand breathes out. A soft, deep sigh.

“Claude talks a lot,” Hubert says.

Ferdinand sighs, shallower. Tonight has been interesting. Usually, they are in Ferdinand’s room. Hubert comes to call, following up on what looks like to anyone else an argument earlier in the day. They have not argued in private for a couple months now. Not really. Rather, Hubert arrives to read Ferdinand his latest poetry, and, if it pleases Ferdinand, he offers his right hand for Hubert to kiss. He does not speak, and Hubert, lips pressed to the back of his hand and holding his fingers between his palms, basks in his benevolence.

In those moments, they play out a dream.

“I believe,” Ferdinand whispers as Hubert draws soft circles over the knob of his spine, “he is courting someone.”

Hubert makes an affirmative noise. He has suspected as such after noticing the regularity of Claude and Dedue’s interactions. Hubert is not certain yet, but he highly suspects that Claude may be courting Dimitri unless it is, in fact, Dedue. It would be less complicated for everyone if it was Dedue.

Ferdinand shifts. Hubert lifts his hand, letting it drop to the side of his head as Ferdinand sits up. In the dim light from the evening candle, Hubert admires the movement of the muscles in his back and the flex of his shoulders as he rolls them. Not because he is getting ready to leave. Quite the opposite.

He turns to Hubert. His hair is tousled. His eyes reflect the light.

“Recite something for me?” he asks, very softly.

Hubert breathes in.

He smells the spring breeze.

let’s dream together  
don’t worry about the world  
these halcyon days

**i.**

Hubert knew it was doomed from the beginning.

In the year before they all started at the academy, Ferdinand appeared at court exactly three times. It was not to shadow his father, as Hubert might have expected, but rather for Ferdinand to be formally presented to various individuals. He was first presented to the Emperor Ionius and Lord Arundel. Hubert assumed initially it was a formality, but then Edelgard learned that the presentation of the Prime Minister’s son was to take place in private.

“Where?” Hubert asked, deeply disturbed because no one of their generation had been presented in such a way.

“I assume my father’s quarters,” Edelgard said as they were walking in the northern garden to afford themselves some privacy. “I have met Ferdinand a few times at opera openings. He is an ardent fan of Manuela. Since she left for Garreg Mach, he has not come to Enbarr.”

Hubert and Edelgard did not meet Ferdinand for his presentation to Ionius and Arundel. Hubert got the impression that it was done as a formality, more important for Arundel than Ionius. This could mean a number of things, all of which vaguely bothered Hubert and troubled Edelgard more.

“I am surprised his father is seeking a match for him,” she said when the Enbarr rumour mill circled back that Ferdinand would be brought to court to meet Duchess Boramas and several maiden ladies in Arundel’s favour. “He is my age and seems to be in good health.”

It was uncommonly early. Hubert shadowed Edelgard at court on the day Ferdinand arrived and watched as Ludwig introduced his son around. Ferdinand went through the motions with practiced perfection and spoke in a clear, bright tone that made the maiden ladies smile. The Duchess Boramas responded in her usual reserved manner, but Ferdinand did not appear at all put off by this. He bowed to her with his palms visible and open and offered a sweet, close-lipped smile. It was a step further than he offered the maiden ladies but completely appropriate for the Duchess’s station.

“Lady Edelgard,” Lord Arundel said at that point, and Hubert was forced to follow Edelgard as her uncle called her away.

Ferdinand appeared once more at court to have tea with the maiden ladies and to attend an opening night at the opera with Duchess Boramas. Ferdinand was then allowed to finally meet Edelgard, joining her and Hubert for a bow lesson in the training hall. His father was not present, but Arundel was.

“Lady Edelgard, Hubert,” Arundel said as Ferdinand stepped forward and bowed low with his palms facing downwards to Edelgard. “This is Ferdinand von Aegir, heir to our Prime Minister.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ferdinand,” Edelgard said, cool and polite as Ferdinand straightened. “I remember you are a fan of Manuela.”

For a split second, Ferdinand’s eyes brightened before he regained control over himself. His smile, while less sweet than he showed Duchess Boramas, seemed more sincere.

“Yes, Lady Edelgard,” he said, bright and with a sharpness to his eyes that Hubert instantly felt too aware of. “I am looking forward to learning from her when we attend the Officer’s Academy this coming spring.”

“She is an accomplished healer,” Edelgard responded smoothly before glancing at Hubert. “I believe we hoped to be taught by Hanneman ourselves.”

“Truly?” Ferdinand asked as his gaze followed hers. “I do not know much of his specialties myself.”

Hubert –

Ferdinand pulls back. Looks at Hubert in the firelight.

“Hubert,” he says as he traces his fingers over the curve of Hubert’s jaw, the sensitive skin and pulse of his neck, “Professor Byleth has asked me to join the Blue Lions.”

Hubert traces his fingers over Ferdinand’s shoulder. Ghosts his fingernails in the pale grooves. Ferdinand does not shiver. He cannot feel anything through the scar tissue there.

“And what did you say?”

Ferdinand smiles. It is sweet. It reaches his eyes.

Hubert knows the answer. He shifts. Presses his lips to Ferdinand’s and swallows.

Ferdinand fills Hubert’s lungs.

Here we are,  
after the rain and snow.

As a boy,  
I took my joy to watch the water  
Seep into the ground  
And make the flowers grow.

Your joy  
In the sun  
In the wind and the rain  
Takes me back to those moments  
Where I felt wonder.

I would share them  
As you do so generously  
When I am by your side.

**ii.**

The first time:

Hubert stood in Ferdinand’s room. Ferdinand sat in his desk chair. He had pieces of armour strewn about his carpet. His room smelled faintly of the honeysuckle flowers he had in a vase by the window. The presence of the flowers surprised Hubert somehow. He stared at them as Ferdinand considered him, left hand folded neatly over his right in his lap.

“You are very bold.”

He said this without judgement. His tone was not puzzled. Hubert looked to him and found Ferdinand offering only focused curiosity. He gazed at Hubert, entirely different from how he had looked at him before.

“Am I?” Hubert asked because he was somewhat disconcerted.

Ferdinand frowned at him. He looked more than a little annoyed. For a split second, they could have simply been arguing as they usually did about nothing.

“You know I cannot answer,” Ferdinand said.

That brought Hubert back to reality. He inclined his head, feeling guilty. It was a gauche of him to ask such a direct question. Ferdinand has already overstepped proper courting by having this conversation at all. He should have pretended to ignore Hubert’s overture and Hubert himself for at least nine more gestures.

Ferdinand breathed in. Out in a soft sigh. Hubert looked up. Ferdinand considered Hubert with a thin expression. Not displeased. Worried and more than a little frustrated. Neither of these emotions were directed at Hubert. In moments like this, Hubert could see flashes of the man Ferdinand was becoming, and he liked it.

“We must talk to each other,” he said, half to himself and with some trepidation. “You have surprised me, I must admit.”

Hubert opened his mouth, realised he was about to ask a question, and shut it. Ferdinand blinked at him. His eyes flickered.

Years later, Hubert would come to understand that this was when they began to treat each other seriously. Not just as the stations they were born into but as individuals. Hubert might have superficially fancied Ferdinand before, enough to write a song, but he had thought him childish and simple. Ferdinand had always taken Hubert seriously as Edelgard’s hand and future Minister, but he did not know Hubert. They began to know each other then.

“Edelgard does not know.”

Hubert nodded. Ferdinand looked down. He considered his hands, which had not moved at all in his lap. It was not natural. Ferdinand was such a physical person, eager and easy to train in weapons, armour, and anything that required his body. It was part of his appeal to Hubert, who used to guiltily watch Edelgard eldest brother and former heir with a childish crush.

“Then,” Ferdinand said, soft and to himself before he fell silent.

The silence did not suit him. Nor did the distant, despondent sheen to his eyes. Hubert recognised that. From Edelgard. From himself.

Carefully, Hubert stepped forward. Right foot in half a stride. Ferdinand looked up as Hubert lowered himself. On his knee, with his left foot turned to rest to the right, Hubert lifted his hands. Offered them with his palms facing upwards and cupped to Ferdinand’s view and watched the shock chase away the shadows in his gaze.

 _Let me serve you,_ his right palm says.

 _Let me keep your secrets,_ his left implores.

Ferdinand looks up. Hubert is not certain of what expression he finds. But the way Ferdinand looks:

As the late spring breeze filters through the window, Ferdinand kisses Hubert on his bed.

Hubert squeezes Ferdinand’s thighs tightly, and Ferdinand hums in pleasure. He lets Hubert pull him closer on the abused sheets, the bed creaking as they once again test it. Hubert does not have the strength to lift Ferdinand like this, but he is well-coordinated enough to press roughly into the kiss and press his thumbs into the tight muscles on the front of Ferdinand’s thigh. It earns him a groan, and Ferdinand rewards him by pulling his hair. Pulling him back to look at him with fire in his eyes and a wicked, wide grin. It is the face he offers when he raises his weapon against an enemy.

“Oh, Hubert,” Ferdinand whispers, “you would ruin me if you could.”

Hubert shudders and gasps as Ferdinand leans down and bites his neck.

 _No,_ he thinks as Ferdinand twists them and the bed rattles as Ferdinand blankets his chest.

_You have ruined me_

**iii.**

Edelgard knows.

Hubert never expected to be able to keep secrets from her. Not forever. There were many he hid the details of, and he knew to most of those she turned a blind eye. Such were their roles. Such was their promise to each other when she returned with her body scarred and hair white.

“I need to speak to you,” she says as spring blossoms grow in the greenhouse, “about Ferdinand.”

“Ah,” Hubert says.

He does not insult her by attempting to hide further. She gazes at him, faintly pinched and rather distant.

“Walk with me,” she says, cool and a clear command.

They settle in her room. Hubert remains standing as she seats herself at her desk. Until they arrived at Garreg Mach as students, he fantasised that he would kneel one day at her feet. He knew, though, she would not appreciate the farce of them playing lord and lady. She was so young when they were taken from each other and she watched her siblings wail and moan and die. Understanding that Hubert would feel most complete at her feet would only cause her more pain.

Not long from this moment, Hubert comes to understand that Ferdinand’s appeal was not divorced from this.

Edelgard frowns at him in the privacy of her room, and Hubert feels flayed open.

“What’s going on between you and Ferdinand?”

Hubert breathes in.

“You will have to clarify, Lady Edelgard.”

Her lips purse. Hubert thinks of the partially finished poem on his desk, covered in a half-used blotting cloth. He hopes to get it into Ferdinand’s mail before he retrieves it after dinner, but he is displeased with the progression of his metaphor about sunlight. Somehow, with their previous conversation about Claude’s courting, it feels off the mark.

“Dorothea noticed you visiting his room two evenings ago,” she says, watching him with her piercing focus. “You did not leave during the night.”

“Ah,” Hubert says and finds himself at a loss.

Edelgard regards him. Not like she does with most but like she sometimes does with Jeritza when his mask cracks and the monster peaks through. It is not judgemental. It is assessing.

“Hubert,” she starts, a note of sympathy which is so close to pity in her tone that Hubert’s gut churns. “Have you become fond of him?”

Fond.

In the dream he and Ferdinand share, Hubert kneels at Ferdinand’s feet. He recites poems because he cannot sing, and Ferdinand looks upon him and listens. He sits still and attentive, and he pushes Hubert away with his left hand if he is displeased. If he is pleased, he extends his right hand, and Hubert has the pleasure of touching him, of pressing his lips against him and resting his cheek in Ferdinand’s palm.

These are things that Edelgard must abolish. These rituals and gestures are poison as they are used by their parents and grandparents. Adrestia is a sham, a poisoned opera with the blood of children turned to wine. That Hubert and Ferdinand act this out in Garreg Mach, pretending that something beautiful could exist if only they chose it themselves:

“If you have grown fond of him,” Edelgard says, and she looks as if she wants to reach out to him but they are not like that and never could be, “then perhaps it is I who misunderstands him.”

But Hubert is already shaking his head. “No,” he says because she is his liege, and she is never wrong. “You understand him. He is a noble, and he is von Aegir.”

Edelgard gazes at him. Into him. She does not frown. She does not smile.

But she is not ice. No more than Hubert is.

“Thank you, Hubert,” she says. “You may go.”

Hubert bows.

“Yes, Lady Edelgard.”

They understand each other well.

That night, Ferdinand lets Hubert kiss his palm.

“You seem troubled,” he murmurs.

Hubert breathes in. Like this, Ferdinand’s scent is strong. Apple blossoms and the sky.

Hubert is afraid of heights.

Fingers. Brushing the shell of Hubert’s right ear. Ferdinand’s left palm, cupping over his ear.

“Hush,” Ferdinand whispers.

There is no mocking. There is no falseness. It is only Ferdinand, who is sincere and direct and so very kind.

“For now,” he breathes, and it is the wide fields under blue sky, “let us be you and me. I will sing for you.”

O, lover, we make each other fools!  
Alone, we are in madness.  
No reason will right our thoughts.  
No reason can know the pleasure of us,  
For we budded together  
Warm in the shadow of taller blossoms!

O, lover, I would forget you!  
Your voice, your lips, your adoring eyes!  
Would I be free again to never know  
The beauty of your adoration!  
Alas, alas, I would never  
For how may I ever bloom again without your love?

**iv.**

The truth is:

Hubert loves Ferdinand.

Love is not something Hubert should have ever experienced. He is von Vestra, and he exists to serve House Hresvelg. From birth to dust, his entire being is meant to fulfil Edelgard’s will whatever it may be. His flesh and blood are tools, weapons, and he should never think except to be her blackened hand.

Loving Ferdinand, who is von Aegir, goes against everything Hubert wants to be. He is the scion of a House that must be crushed in the purge of corrupt nobles, and he is too much of a liability to pull into Edelgard’s plans. Not just because of his father but because of who Ferdinand himself is.

House Aegir were, in the old tales, lords of horses with hair and eyes of fire. His mother’s maiden House Este were fliers, scorning sons who could never master pegasus flight. These are banned tales, but Hubert knows them just as well. Hubert has learned his magic and his folklore as well as he learns anything. Ferdinand bears a pegasus mark, and those who bear such marks have a well of power that is utterly different from anything based in flesh or blood or Crests.

Ferdinand has too much potential and too much power. Hubert cannot allow him close to Those Who Slither in the Dark. He knows what will happen. What will be done.

Hubert already lost Edelgard once. He will not survive losing Ferdinand, too.

It is why, every time Ferdinand allows Hubert to touch his skin; every time Ferdinand allows Hubert to trace fingers over the pegasus mark that numbs his shoulder and he hides from all other eyes; every time Ferdinand allows Hubert to kiss him as he hums and laughs and fills Hubert’s lungs with that precious fondness –

Hubert is lost.

Ferdinand offers him something no one else has ever been able to give.

In the short, stolen evenings:

Hubert is alive.

**v.**

The second person aside from Edelgard to figure it out is Dorothea.

It is after things fall apart. Dorothea comes with Edelgard and Hubert as they prepare for the assault on Garreg Mach. She weeps a little but kisses Edelgard’s cheek without caring for the looks and gossip it immediately causes when Edelgard does not push her away. Hubert does not realise it at the moment, but he stares too obviously. Too long.

Dorothea comes to him as he considers the strategic positions of the Imperial Pegasus Corps. At first, Hubert does not think anything odd about her presence, but then he realises that Edelgard is not with her. She comes alone, and she hesitates before stepping into the cramped room and closing the door.

“Hubie,” she starts and then falls silent.

Hubert sets down his pencil. Straightens. Dorothea folds her hands in front of herself. She looks over him. Like she can see everything that he is.

Hubert feels more exposed than he has since Edelgard was taken from him.

“Were you courting Ferdie?”

Ferdinand is beautiful.

Hubert is not a fanciful person. He had that taken out of him before he could even conceive the notion. He has never been dumbstruck before, and he has never been swept up in notions of romance or desire above his mind.

But there is something about Ferdinand. He is athletic and hardworking without being flamboyant or oafish. He is more than a little arrogant, and he wanted to duel Edelgard, but it was for sport rather than a threat. When he wasn’t trying to fight Edelgard or disagreeing with Hubert, he was so pleasing to the eye. It didn’t help that he could sing and that he knew the high tales just as well he knew his histories and weapons. His knowledge was not at all fake: he understood it just as well as he could recite poetry or entire operas he saw when he was five.

Hubert wrote his first courting overture before he could fully examine what he was doing. He folded it into Ferdinand’s mail in a fit of self-doubt and unusual confidence. He did not sign it, and he thought that by doing this, it would be out of his system. Ferdinand already had so many suitors, and it was customary for new suitors to keep their identities mysteries. One more suitor would not matter.

Ferdinand, however, was just as smart as Hubert understood him to be. He did not confront Hubert, and he did not respond by mail or by gesture. Instead, the morning after Hubert slipped his song into Ferdinand’s mail, Ferdinand did not challenge Edelgard to a competition over breakfast. He came into the dining hall with Dimitri and Marianne, and he spoke with them of the upcoming horseshoeing. He said, in his bright, clear tone to an audience none the wiser, he hoped the weather would be fair and the sunlight would be easy on everyone’s skin.

Hubert’s song had been about watching Ferdinand as he rode, the sunlight haloing his hair.

“We could,” Dorothea says as Hubert stares back down at the map, “try –”

“No,” Hubert says; he does not recognise his voice; he can not see the map. “He has made his position clear.”

“But,” Dorothea starts before she must catch whatever look is on Hubert’s face; her breath hitches. “Oh, Hubie…”

She does not say she is sorry. She does not say she understands. Hubert is grateful.

He does not have to pretend.

“Hubert,” Ferdinand said, catching Hubert after class, “I would speak with you.”

Hubert looked at him. Ferdinand sounded no different than he did when they were about to argue, but his eyes were focused in a different manner. As Hubert turned, Ferdinand shifted. A discrete cupping of his left palm and folding his fingers flat. He keeps his thumb extended outwards.

_I received your message_

And before he could stop himself:

Hubert smiled.

When we walk in the greenhouse among pale flowers,  
You tell me of the orchards you thought you knew.

Did you know, you say as we sit out of the spring showers,  
My mother, long ago, used to take me flying? We flew,  
Above the grand orchards of apples and bees,  
And for a few precious hours:  
I had a mother.

I watch your face as you say this.  
You speak in a mild quiet tone.  
You do not share with others.

You watch the pale flowers.

Hours pass us by.


End file.
